One of my mother's hard and fast rules was that you had to be at dinner every night. I'm glad she made that rule. I've since come to regard my family dinner time as my alma mater, the time and place where I learned to think critically and creatively and gained deep understanding of a range of topics. Alma mater literally translates to "bounteous mother". The phrase originally referred to someone or something that provided nourishment. Growing up, my family dinner table provided both the nutritional and intellectual nourishment I would need to thrive in life.

At that carved wooden dining table I learned to learn and to think, to question, to problem solve, and to understand. At that table, I became fascinated with mathematics, science, politics, literature, human psychology, culture and society. We were allowed to play with our food. In fact, my father had a habit of using anything on the table to represent any idea we were in the midst of discussing. The habit rubbed off on my brothers, sisters, and me. To this day, a ramekin of sugar packets, found on nearly any dining table, will suffice to explore and explain even the most complex ideas.
"Dad, what do they mean by "Reaganomics?"
"Reaganomics is a portmanteau—a fusion—of President Reagan and economics," he'd say as he held at arms length and then squished together two chunks of soft bread. Then he shaped the new hunk of bread into a finger bowl and held it out in front of him for us to see. "Reaganomics has four key components," he continued dropping a piece of cut up chicken into the bread bowl as he listed each. "Reduce government spending, regulation, taxes, and inflation." Pleased, he would take a bite of his Reaganomic sandwich.
"Dad, what's regulation mean?"
"Well, if you take this large spoon and this small spoon and scoop rice from the bowl, you'll see that the structure of the spoon—its size—regulates the amount of rice that..."
And so it went every night at dinnertime. These early experiences growing up had two effects. First, it made it virtually impossible for me to eat at my friend's houses. More importantly, my alma mater gave me an eye, a feel, and a love for the "secret lives" of ideas and led me to study how we make ideas. It gave me an eye for ideas. No longer were ideas unconscious and entangled in my head—I could see them on the table. It gave me a feel for ideas. I could move them, combine ideas with others, hold them up to be the object of focus. It also gave me a great love of ideas. Ideas were to be played with, fashioned, constructed, combined, interrelated, explored.
How are ideas structured? Are there universal patterns to the way knowledge is created and how it changes? How is thinking related to knowledge? The construction of ideas has been at the center of my research for over fifteen years.